


Tonight's the One Night It's Good To Be A Monster

by RittaPokie



Category: spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Halloween, M/M, peter is pining again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 12:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6194873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RittaPokie/pseuds/RittaPokie





	Tonight's the One Night It's Good To Be A Monster

It’s 9pm, and Peter has some sort of mask on. It’s not really from anything, it’s just a generic demon. He can’t show his face, now can he? He’s not really dressed up other than that. Halloween isn’t much fun when your parents died during your childhood. [Maybe that’s an excuse not to enjoy yourself.] He thinks to himself.

Wade clears his throat and Peter turns to view his costume. He’s been getting ready for like an hour, who knows what he was doing. There’s some sort of tinsel hanging from his fingers-did he get that from the things kids’ bike handlebars have? And a striped sweater.

“Clever.” Peter says. Freddy Krueger. He guesses no one can use that as well as Wade. It’s weird though, honestly. Usually Wade wouldn’t be caught dead-[hah]-without his mask. But here he is, less naked than usual but in an unusual way.

\---

Peter doesn’t know why he bothered with a mask. He doesn’t know a single person at this party. He doesn’t think Wade does either, but that hasn’t stopped Wade from gathering a small flock of beautiful women, all of whom are impressed with the sfx makeup. Oh, and that’s a kick in the face. [He thinks he’s a monster all year round.] Peter thinks, [Tonight’s the one night it’s good to be a monster.]

He swallows more of the obviously spiked punch than he should be having. He’s within earshot of Wade. Just letting everyone around him throw line after line, some complimenting and some saying things like “Jesus you look scary!” “Holy fuck!” And it gets worse from there. It’s all Peter can do not to web every single one of them in their mouths. Because Wade isn’t saying anything to stop them, he’s just letting it happen and encouraging it, like always. Peter stands up and almost stumbles over the chair he was sitting in to get outside.

He steadies himself, hands on the railing of the balcony, his heart pumping hard enough to hear even past the ringing in his ears. It occurs to him that, if Wade saw him stumble out onto the balcony, he’ll probably follow. Ask what’s wrong. Because he cares significantly more about Peter than he does about himself. Peter hates that, with every ounce he has left to hate things. And if Wade asks what’s wrong, Peter might be too drunk to lie and say “I’m tired” like usual. And he’ll tell the truth. And what is the truth, exactly?  
“You let people treat you badly and you deserve better.”  
“It makes me so mad when people say things like that, they don’t know you at all.”  
“Why can’t you see what I see when you look at yourself?”

Definitely, oh, he definitely can’t say the last one. But it’s on the tip of his tongue. All the time. He knows Wade has done bad things, still does sometimes, but for fuck’s sake, he’s trying. Isn’t that enough?

Sure enough, because the universe is cruel. “Baby boyy.” Wade taps his shoulder. He can feel the tinsel ghost over the exposed skin of his neck, the wind’s blowing. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Peter mumbles, tightens his grip on the railing. [Just lie, just say you’re tired.]

“Don’t look fine to me.” Wade leans on the railing, and Peter can feel him looking. “Drunk, maybe.”

“I’m-” [Tired, just say tired.] “Why do you let people say things like that about you?” [Fuck.]

“What?” There’s a chuckle in his tone, he can’t believe Peter just said that. “Well, it’s true, for one.”

It takes everything, everything, for Peter to not groan out loud. “No, it’s not."

“Wow. How did you get so drunk?” Wade laughs. Always, always humor with this guy. It sets Peter’s nerves on fire in too many ways than he’s completely comfortable with.

And Peter is stuck, again, like usual. Stuck between wanting Wade to hang around because when Wade is with him, he knows no one is being needlessly cruel. And. And wanting Wade to leave him the fuck alone before he does something that is incredibly, stupendously not smart, like, for example, taking Wade’s face in his hands and kissing him. Because what’s logical at this point besides that?

“Lover boy.” Wade says, voice pitching in a way so Peter doesn’t know for sure if he means it when he says things like that. Either way, it makes Peter’s skin prickle in a not totally bad way. “Maybe we should get you home?”

It sounds suspiciously like your place or mine, but maybe that’s just because it’s Wade. Or just because he’s drunk. Or both. [I want you.] But he can’t say that, he can’t. And he knows already that Wade would never do anything while he’s drunk, and he’s not sure he’ll do anything when he’s sober. So they’re always stuck. And it’s going to drive Peter out of his mind if something-someone, rather-doesn’t give.

“Pete. Answer me?” Wade waves a tinseled hand in front of him.

He makes a noncommittal noise. It’s all he can muster. Well, besides wanting to kiss his friend-roommate-teammate? He tries to stand without holding himself up on the railing, but his legs almost give out, tired from holding his pining ass up. Wade slips his arm around him and props him up. Really, things couldn’t have gotten worse than physical contact unless Wade had actually put his hand down Peter’s pants. Which he has done before, semi-innocently. Peter barely lived through that.

\---

He lets Wade half carry him until they’re almost at the apartment they’re sharing before he stumbles out of Wade’s arms to breathe. “I’m fine.” He insists. He’s not steady on his feet by any means, but he doesn’t think he’ll fall down. Maybe.

“You’re weird tonight.”

“You’re weird every night.” Peter snaps, immediately feels guilty. Wasn’t he just getting furious that other people were doing this?

“Fair.” Wade says.

“God. Fucking. Stop, just stop.” He splutters. “Just. Stop. Don’t let me say things like that to you. It’s not fair, it’s not even a little fair.”

“But-”

“No, no I’ve had enough of the self-deprecation. I can’t stand it, I can’t. Stand it.” Everything is just spilling out and he’s too inebriated to stop it or even slow it down.

“So… Are we at the “pack your shit” “get out” phase?“ He doesn’t even sound surprised. Peter thinks he might just scream. Just wail into the abyssal night sky of NYC.

He wants to punch Wade but also kiss him, and his hand reaches for Wade’s face and he isn’t sure which he’s doing. Maybe slapping, because his hand is tensed. He stops halfway through the gesture, drops his hand. Too much of a coward to do either, apparently. "No.” He says, softer, defeated, exhausted. “No, that’s not…I just want..” [You. I want you. Not even really sexually but also that, but more than that.] He sighs.

“I can’t read your mind.”

“Thank god.” Peter huffs out without missing a beat. It’s the most coherent thing he’s said all night. “I-Wade, I just-” he can’t get out anything surrounding this subject, knows he can’t. He wraps his arms around the other man and just sighs into his shoulder. Realizes he lost his mask at some point, doesn’t really care.

“Really weird night, Pete.” Wade says, wraps his arms around him anyway.

“You’re great and you don’t see it and it pisses me off.” He mumbles into Wade’s neck. When did he move his face there? [Fuck. This is getting way too intimate now. Need to back off.] He can actually feel the shiver run through Wade before he pushes Peter back to a more appropriate distance. Blearily, Peter can see the questioning look in Wade’s eyes. For some reason, his own are brimmed with tears.

And it’s so hard not to kiss him. Because his eyes are soft and vulnerable and he wants it to happen too, but not like this. Neither of them want it like this. Because Peter knows, when he sobers up, that it will feel too fast. And by then, if this happened, it would be too late to back off without hurting Wade. And he can’t do that, he can’t be another person to do that. Peter doesn’t know who or how many times, but he knows that Wade has been hurt before. Way, way too much. They both need it to be right.

So Peter pulls himself from Wade’s arms even though they’re so much warmer than the air around them, and fumbles for his keys. “I need to go to bed.” He says, softer than he needed to. “Night Wade.” He goes on up without him, but doesn’t sleep until he hears Wade come up. Just in case there was too big of a misunderstanding.


End file.
